


bend your breath just this once.

by yourealoverimarunner



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Drama!, F/M, don't lie to people, she's crying and she's so mad as she should be
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-24
Updated: 2015-04-24
Packaged: 2018-03-25 12:41:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3810787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yourealoverimarunner/pseuds/yourealoverimarunner
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“All those times I let you convince me that I was just being foolish, that nothing was wrong, that he was just stressed, ‘trying to keep me in the light’, all lines when you all were keeping me in the dark. You were the one lying to me. You were the one lying to me."</p>
<p>Barry reveals to Iris that he's The Flash.</p>
            </blockquote>





	bend your breath just this once.

**Author's Note:**

> Haven't written in a while and have never written for the Flash fandom so I thought I'd flex my muscles again with this pair. Can't wait until Iris finds out, I hope she goes super saiyan on everyone. Anyway.

When she was a freshman in college, Iris West took a modern dance class for beginners as a core. The course had a brilliant teacher, a petite Japanese woman with silver hair named Naomi Takada, who wore just enough rings on her fingers to be considered tasteful, not gaudy or overwhelming. She had bare nails and gentle hands, hands she used to adjust Iris’s spine on the first day of class, made her stand taller; hands that gave Iris the space to know it was safe, beautiful, wonderful to do so. “Walk with your head held high, shoulders back, be powerful,” Naomi had whispered as she shifted Iris' feet to plant in a strong position, a stance that was quite difficult to be moved from. Naomi would push at Iris' shoulders, fingers demanding she topple or falter, but the girl would not give one inch. One semester of classes provoked her to pick up a dance minor the following semester, wanting to spend more time in Naomi’s classes. Something in her ached for guidance, craved to be molded under a female influence, to fill that spot inside of her that had been empty for so long. 

 

Iris West could not have predicted Barry Allen would be the one to undo it all.

 

In the four years of movement classes, feet often run raw switching from jazz to ballet to contemporary, cultivating a relationship with her body, feeding and growing a strong core, an immovable planted stance; she could not have possibly anticipated that the boy she had loved for much too long would be the one to unravel that precious training. Unbeknownst to her, he would soon come along and push at her shoulders- not with bejeweled fingers but quiet words, knocking her backwards and taking her out at the knees.

 

“ _I’m... I’m The Flash.”_

 

Her hands shake.

No longer are they sure and swift like practiced strokes over a keyboard, or smooth and alert with immediate muscle memory.

No- they tremble. Bones rattle beneath her skin.

There is no ground, no strong core, no planted feet.

She is collapsible.

 

She hears him calling her name, low and muffled repetition.

_“Iris, di- did you hear me?”_ And he’s reaching out for her, his hands to hers, and she’s jerking away before she can stop herself.

A dry swallow.

“I... heard you.”

Her words cut through the fogginess in her mind, but only briefly. Soon she’s back inside, retracing steps.

Right foot, left foot.

Right foot, left foot, pivot.

She wonders if she walks backward through her memory long enough if she’ll discover the moment where they went wrong. Where is the last place they had it and where they could have possibly put it?

Only it’s not keys to the front door of the home they both share that they've misplaced; it’s honest conversation.

 

When was the last time he told her the truth?

 

“How long?” she finds herself asking.

He’s across the room now, long form, arms folded across a broad chest.

The clock ticks and a breeze dances through an open window.

The silence parts when he speaks.

“I... too long,” he sighs, resigned. “Since... after. After I woke up.”

 

All of a sudden there’s a laugh splitting the air, a sharp edged scoff springing forth, and she realizes it belongs to her, has crawled up from the pit of her gut and burst into the air with a vengeance.

Incredible.

All this time.

_All this time._

She laughs again, short and stiff, posture undone.

“Oh my god. All those-- all those late night meetups at Jitters, all those lines--”

“They weren’t lines, Iris. I meant every word, I swear--”

“ _‘What other girls?’_ God, I can’t believe I ever thought...” and she's shaking her head, dark strands falling around her face, soft brown hands cupping cheeks already wet with tears, as if she’s in awe that she could ever-

“...be so dumb. It was right in front of me the entire time...”

A tear appears, rolls to her lip, down her chin, drops to her lap.

“All those times I let you convince me that I was just being foolish, that nothing was wrong, that he was just stressed, ‘trying to keep me in the light’, all _lines_ when you all were keeping me in the dark. You were the one lying to me. _You were the one lying to me._ ”

 

And it hits her, the thought as hard and heavy as a misguided kick to the center of her chest. Of all the people...

 

“Do you not trust me?”

 

And he’s speaking, voice cracking, “God, Iris, no, you know that’s not it--” but she can’t stop it all from spilling from her, the crack that broke the levee, an overflow, rushing, rushing, rushing--

“Did you think I was going to tell? Who would I tell?”

“Iris, please--”

“Who would I tell, Barry? Who would I tell? You? My best friend? The boy I’ve loved even before I knew what love meant? The only person I’d want to tell? Who would I tell?”

“We were trying to keep you safe,” he’s apologizing, can’t spare a glance in her direction. She’s standing then, cutting across the room to him instantly, those strong feet planted and that core begging for truths.

“From what?” she’s demanding, and she senses he wants to step around her but he won't. They both know he could if he wanted to but she’s not giving him room to run and she knows he knows he shouldn’t if they’re going to save this. She asks again, “From what, Barry?” because she genuinely wants to know, needs to know. Who or what was out there that would be too much for her to handle the reason the people in her life have lied to her over and over and _over_ again? What was it that had them tiptoeing behind her back, sharing whispers around corners, hugging her with crossed fingers, kissing her with fallacies on their tongues, plotting in between silences? What is it they were saving her from? Themselves?

“From... everything. All of this. All of...” he trails, but comes to an end.

Comes to nothing.

 

The anger rises in her fierce and clear, fingers clenching into fists at her sides.

Her eyes water.

 

“When have I ever given off that I needed saving?” she cuts.

“Never, Iris. I- that’s not what I meant--”

“Everyone knew but me, didn’t they?”  and she doesn’t need to see his nod to know the answer before she’s moving out of his space. “God, every single person around me lied to me, everyone in on the joke but Iris. Poor Iris, weak Iris, dumb Iris--”

“You know that’s not how I feel--”

She’s rounding on her heel, direct, specific, a bottled storm. “But that’s how I feel! For months you’ve been lying to me! You’ve set me up to be some damsel in distress, a fool that needs to be locked up and kept on a pedestal so I can’t see the monsters moving in the night! But the monsters aren’t the things I can’t explain, the things I’ve seen and _been discredited_ for saying, things I’ve been judged on! They’re you! They’re Eddie and Dad and Cisco and Caitlin and Dr. Wells and god knows who else! They’re all the people pretending to love me and trust me, while the entire time they’re bending truths as if I can’t handle it!”

She’s on the verge of screaming, of breaking, and he’s in front of her before she knows it, a whiplash, _a flash_ , gripping her arms and pulling her to him.

“Iris, I swear to God, you have to believe when I say I have never once pretended with you. Everything I said when I came to you all those nights as Barry, as The Flash, every word I meant. I have never pretended with you. I could never pretend with you, even when I was wearing a mask.”

“No,” she pulls away but he’s holding her--

“Yes, Iris. Please, please--”

“No! Because you’ve been wearing a mask ever since you woke up!” She rips herself from him, walks backward towards the door. “Ever since you came back to me, you’ve been wearing a mask! You’re wearing one now!”

He’s yelling, desperate-- “It’s off! I’m here, Iris! I’m here! _I’m here!_ I’m standing right here!”-- and they’re coming now, fat tears rolling down her face: wet, hot, heavy, embarrassed, broken, exhausted--

“I have to go,” she breathes out, tries to catch the sob that’s clawing at her throat, squeezing at her chest. It escapes against her will.

“Iris please,” and he’s crying too but she can’t look at that face or she’ll stay; she’ll stay and she’ll forgive like she always does- _Poor Iris, weak Iris, dumb Iris_ \- so she’s grabbing her keys, her purse, reaching for the doorknob, hands graceless.

She loves him so much, too much, not enough and more than enough’s enough.

“I’m coming back,” she manages, because she is, she will, she just needs...

“I’m coming back, okay? I just...”

She tucks a strand of loose hair behind her hair, wipes a hand over her face. Exhales a watery breath.

The clock ticks.

He’s still.

First position, the beginning or the end.

The door clicks shut and she's standing on the other side.

 

_“Walk with your head held high, shoulders back, be powerful."_

 

She's never felt less powerful in her life. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from "Lie To Me" by Sara Bareilles.


End file.
